She couldn’t help feeling hurt. He’d seen the reports and chosen to go on his own, not with her. They’d never really been a team, but she liked to think they had become friends, working together a few times since taking down the Trail’s UK cell. She trusted him as much as she would ever trust anyone again. She believed in him.
He’d lied to her, left without her, and that smarted.
A small note was propped on the table, beside an empty water bottle. Changed my mind, it said.
‘Yeah. Right. Bastard.’ She sighed and sat outside the caravan, looking across the fields at the farmstead in the distance, and the sweeping patterns the breeze made in dozens of acres of crops.
It took only a couple of minutes to convince herself that she had to follow.
For the final few normal hours of her life, Emma followed a familiar routine.
‘Hurry up, you’ll be late for school!’
‘Okay, Mum.’
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Daisy humming along to something on her iPod. Every school morning was the same, and every morning her daughter was out of the door with seconds to spare. It was only her second week back in school following the summer holidays, but it seemed that this final year in primary school would be the same.
‘Come on! I’ve got to get ready myself, yet.’
‘Chill pill, Mum.’ Daisy appeared at the top of the stairs. Short and slight like Emma, but also possessing her mother’s athletic build and love of sports, Dom always said that Daisy was going to be a heartbreaker.
‘What?’ Daisy asked as she hurried downstairs.
‘You’re gorgeous.’
‘Like a princess?’
‘Gorgeouser.’
‘That’s not a word.’
‘It is. I’m your mummy and I say so.’
‘Mu-um!’ Daisy rolled her eyes. She hardly ever called Emma “mummy” any more, another milestone that had drifted by without them really noticing.
‘Got your homework and stuff for your art project?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you’ll walk straight home from school.’
‘No, I’ll go to town and go to the pub then go to the nightclub.’
‘And where’s my invitation?’
Daisy rolled her big blue eyes again. ‘Mu-um!’
‘Love you.’ Emma kissed her, opened the door, and watched the most precious thing in her world leave. She often watched Daisy down the driveway and along the street, knew she was embarrassed by it, but guessed that deep inside she also quite liked it.
Even so young, Daisy was quickly becoming her own person. She was growing into someone who made her parents intensely proud, but that couldn’t camouflage the sense that she was already leaving them.
Sometimes when Emma watched Daisy walking away, her heart ached.
She closed the front door and sighed. The house was suddenly silent, with no blaring music, hassled husband or singing daughter to stir the air. Emma didn’t really like the house this quiet. It sang with the ghosts of children unknown.
She had always wanted more than one child. It had taken three years of trying before Daisy was conceived, after being told by doctors that she would probably never have babies. They’d tried for another without success, and now in their early forties she and Dom were still leaving things to chance. But she felt her clock rapidly ticking, and she was resigned to their daughter being an only child.
Secretly, she was sure that Dom blamed her, probably because in her darkest moments she blamed herself. She hadn’t even known Dom in those wild few years she’d spent with Genghis Cant and Max Mort. He had been the steady rock further downstream in her future.
At the age of eighteen she’d fallen so easily into that life, attracted by the glamour of a touring band, the charisma of its lead singer, the carefree atmosphere and sense of freedom that came from being in a different town every week and a different country every couple of months. They’d never been huge, but they’d built a large enough fan base to enable them to tour constantly, make reasonable money from their regular albums, and buy and maintain a small tour bus.
This had been in a time before music was so easy to download for free, and album sales had been much healthier. Genghis Cant had played regular festivals in Germany, Holland and Denmark, and their touring had taken them as far afield as Greece.
Their bus had been called Valhalla. It became the centre of her life. She’d shared one of its bunks with Max for two years which she could now barely remember, and he had been more than willing to share his drink and drugs.
She’d once asked her doctor whether such intense substance abuse could have damaged her chances of motherhood. The doctor had only stared at her. She’d wanted to strike him, curse at him, because she didn’t believe it was his place to judge, however silently. He couldn’t acknowledge the way she’d pulled herself back up and out of that life. As quickly as she’d fallen she had risen again, hauled back home by her parents and then saved by Dom.
Those years were a blur now, a poor copy of a movie of someone else’s life. She still caught occasional glimpses, and sometimes in dreams she was there again, although viewed from the perspective of comfortable middle-age those times were more nightmarish than daring and revelatory.
She was happy to leave them as little more than vague memories. While she acknowledged that she was a product of her experiences, there were plenty she preferred not to dwell upon.
One thing she hadn’t lost, however, was her taste for guitar music.
After Dom left for work around seven thirty and Daisy was out of the door by eight fifteen she always had half an hour to herself to get ready for work. Today she chose Pearl Jam, washing and dressing to the evocative strains of Eddie Vedder. It was at these times, when she was alone listening to music, that she came closest to missing those old wild times.
After she locked the back door and went out to her car, she saw a Jeep blocking the end of the driveway. It was several years old, a Cherokee, white and mud-spattered, tinted windows. She didn’t recognise it, and she stared for a while, passing her keys from hand to hand and wondering what to do.
She pressed the button that unlocked her car. She could get in and reverse down the driveway, hoping that the driver would see and move aside. Or perhaps she should walk to the Jeep and knock on the window.
The tinted glass
